Everybody's Daughter

by Michael John Sullivan

  “George said he would never paint anything fictitious.”

  “Really?” Michael touched the frame around the picture. “Did he tell you how he experienced this and where?”

  She reached down and pulled out a bottle of brandy, pouring a few ounces into her tea. “Would you like some?”

  “No thanks,” said Michael, surprised. “I have to drive, I mean walk. What about the painting?”

  “I believed he lived through it,” she said, sipping her loaded tea. “For the past three years, right after Thanksgiving he would paint a portrait of some kind. He scared off the few friends we had when they’d come to visit and ask him the same questions you’re asking and he’d tell him that it was his life he painted.” She shrugged, her cheeks warming from the tea. “He insisted it was real to him. Who was I to say it wasn’t.”

  Michael swallowed hard and wondered if Mr. Farmer was eccentric or if by some miracle he had traveled back in time too. “Did you ever hear back from the cops about George’s death?”

  “Oh yes. They said it was…” She paused. “What was the word? Incon…”

  “Inconclusive?”

  “Yes. That’s it. I told them no one knew George like I did. He was a happy man. He loved life. He would never take his life. He would defend life if it meant giving up his own.”

  “I wonder if he did,” Michael said in a hushed tone.

  “What was that?”

  He turned around and noticed Cecilia was dabbing her eyes again.

  “Oh nothing. I was just thinking to myself.”

  She smiled. “George did that often, especially when he was painting. I guess it was a release for him.” She sighed. “Sit down. Let me show you something. I know this always cheered George up.”

  Cecilia opened a box filled with Christmas memorabilia. She took out a couple of wooden ornaments and an old angel, its white wings dirty from dust and put them onto the side table. “Usually George handled the decorations so I have no idea what else is in here.”

  As she dug deeper into the box, her face lit up. “Here,” she said, pulling out a stunning replica of the baby Jesus. “George always smiled when we took this out. He said it brought him back to what was most important during this time. He would take it to the church to be displayed and come back to paint.”

  “He’s beautiful,” Michael said. “What do you want me to do with Him?”

  “Bring it to Pastor Dennis. George would be happy to know that we have kept up the tradition of having the baby in the manger.”

  “I will. How old are the decorations?”

  “Oh, they were handed down to us by George’s great-grandfather. It meant so much to him to have the baby in the church every Christmas.”

  “I’ll bring it over to the church tomorrow. Is that okay?”

  She nodded. “Thank you for doing that. I don’t feel much for walking alone.” She looked at the vacant chair. “I haven’t slept alone in over fifty years. He would snore a bit. At first it would keep me awake and I would turn the hair dryer on to drown him out. But then I got used to it. It was a comforting sound. Now the past couple of nights have been so silent and quiet. I thought I would never say this. I miss his snoring.”

  Michael half-smiled, filled a bit with gloom.

  “I talk to him at night. I wonder if he hears me?” she asked.

  “I think he does.” He spotted a pen and paper on the coffee table and picked them up. “Here’s my phone number.” He wrote it down and handed it to her. “Call me if you need anything or if you just want to talk.”

  “How kind. But I don’t have a phone.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  She gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “I’ll say a prayer for you and your daughter.” She escorted him to the door, holding the box. The contents jingled, sounding like chimes in a gusty wind. He stopped.

  “Is there anything wrong?” she asked.

  “No.”

  He stepped outside and a cold, brisk spurt of air greeted him as he cradled the baby Jesus in his arms, cuddling him inside his overcoat. It was a good night for a walk.

  * * *

  The porch light was lit when Michael arrived home. Connie’s vehicle was parked by the curb so he stood outside, watching a stray cat and a raccoon looking for a meal in his next door neighbor’s garbage can. A light dusting of snow skirted from the heavens, drawing a breathtaking view, reminiscent of a Thomas Kincade painting that hung in the living room when Vicki was alive.

  It was a beautiful, crisp night, the surrounding chimneys sending their smoke signals into the air while stars sprinkled blue streaks across the black sky.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Connie knocked on the living room window. “What are you doing?” she mouthed.

  Michael put his finger to the top of his head. “Thinking.”

  She shivered as she came outside, hopping up and down. “What is that?”

  “A baby,” he said, holding it to his chest and watching her eyes widen. “Not a real one.”

  “Why are you holding a doll?”

  “I have to take it to the church.”

  “It’s cold out here, come in. I’ve got some hot chocolate ready.”

  “I need some time alone.”

  She smiled. “I have little marshmallows.”

  ”I’ll come in soon.”

  She skipped back inside, her breath vaporizing into a frigid tranquil breeze.

  He stayed outside until he felt the cold seep into his bones. He ran inside. The alluring aroma of chocolate intoxicated him as he took his coat off and placed the baby down on the couch.

  “It’s hot, be careful,” Connie said as she handed him his favorite snowman mug that Elizabeth had given him a few years ago for Christmas. Five miniature marshmallows floated on top.

  He inhaled the warm chocolate before taking a sip.

  “Allison called again.”

  Oh, joy. “Did she leave a message?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She was rambling. I stopped listening after a while.”

  “Did any of Elizabeth’s friends call?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry. So how are you doing anyway?”

  “How I feel isn’t important.”

  “Do you want something to eat?”

  “I don’t feel like eating.”

  “I can cook a burger, order a pizza, Chinese, popcorn –”

  “The hot chocolate will do. Thanks.” He went into the living room and sat on the sofa, sipping his hot drink.

  Connie sat next to him. “So what are you going to do?”

  “For starters, I’m going to ask you to think real hard and try to remember every single detail of the last time you saw Elizabeth.”

  Connie twisted sideways and put her mug on the coffee table. “Okay, shoot.”

  “What was the last thing she said to you?”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “She said she would come back upstairs after she cleaned up.”

  He spoke slower. “This is real important. Are you one hundred percent sure that you didn’t see her come back?”

  She rubbed her temple with her left hand. “Well, I did go upstairs briefly. But I’m sure I would have seen her come up the stairs if she came back. I was near the stairs.” She squeezed her eyes shut as if replaying the day in her head. “But then again, there were a lot of people coming and going and I could have missed her if she did come back up.” She opened her eyes. “I can’t say for sure that she didn’t come back before or after you.”

  He put his cup down on the coffee table, covering his eyes with his hands and rubbing the weariness out of them.

  “This is still too hard to believe,” she said.

  Michael could feel the day’s events frustrating him. “Look, you can either believe me or not. Frankly, I don’t care what you believe right now.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “Let’s not fight about this. I’m sure she hopped on a bu
s or train and took off to that concert. She’s not perfect so she could have disobeyed you. She wouldn’t be the first teenage girl to do this. I was a teenager and I know.”

  He put his hand out and slapped himself on the head. “I know what happened. I can’t be in denial anymore. She didn’t go to the concert. I would have heard from her by now. She’s a good kid, not an angel. I know. I can’t keep telling myself this didn’t happen. It did.”

  Connie picked up his half drunk mug of hot chocolate and headed to the kitchen. “I’ll get you a refill, and then…um…well, we have to talk about my conversation with the police.”

  He followed her. “What conversation?”

  Her hands shook as she topped off his cup. “The police called me today, asking all sorts of questions about you.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “About you as a father.”

  “Yeah. And?”

  She spilled hot chocolate on the counter. “They asked if you ever hit her.”

  “What did you say?”

  She tore a piece of paper towel and mopped up the spill, her hands still shaking. “They know about the time you hit her at the zoo.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. But they knew.”

  She averted her eyes. Her face flushed.

  “I had to or she would have lost her hand. I was scared.”

  “I know. I would have done the same thing. But it didn’t help that someone told an authority over there about it.”

  “I explained it back then.” He paced. “What else did they ask?”

  “They asked whether you two spent a lot of time together, how your relationship was and whether you enjoyed being around her, how you acted.”

  “What did you say?”

  She slipped her hands into her pant pockets and shrugged, keeping her head down. “I said I didn’t really know since we don’t see each other much. But they seem to think there were some problems at home.”

  He bit back a harsh retort. “That’s just great.”

  “I couldn’t very well lie to the police.”

  “Lie?” Michael slammed his fist on the counter. The mug filled with hot chocolate toppled over and crashed on the floor. “You’re mind-boggling sometimes.”

  “Why are you mad at me?”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “You remember one time that I tapped her hand and bottom and by the way, that does not constitute hitting, but you don’t remember that she’s my whole life?” His voice broke. “It’s not a lie that I haven’t been to every school event, raised her alone, provided a roof over her head, put food on the table, put aside my own goals and took care of every single need she had. Yeah, I made my mistakes. Many. I’m not proud of them. I’ll probably have to live with a few until the day I die. I’ve been trying to avoid making them again. But I’m human. You know all this, you didn’t have to be here all the time to figure that out.”

  “Well, when you put it that way –”

  He huffed. “What else did they ask?”

  “Detective Brady wanted to know why you hadn’t been in a relationship after Vicki died.”

  “That could have been your cue to tell him that I was a dedicated father and spent my time raising my daughter.” He took another gulp of air. “And how did he know about my social life anyway?”

  “They know a lot about you. More than I know.”

  “How long were you on the phone with the detective?”

  “Give or take thirty minutes.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “He asked me several times if you took trips anywhere.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  Her face turned a bright red. “I may have mentioned that you went to Jerusalem. Look, people think I’m crazy, like I’m some religious crackpot because I mentioned that snake. I don’t know what to say and who to say it to.”

  He slammed his hand on the refrigerator door. “Are you kidding me?”

  She raised her hands in annoyance. “Don’t worry, he thinks it’s some place in Pennsylvania.”

  “What else is there?”

  She winced, looking down at the ground, embarrassed.

  “Connie,” he lowered his voice and forced a calm tone. “What else did he say?”

  She backed up and leaned against the sink counter. “Now, don’t be mad.”

  “Spill it.”

  “Well, he asked if I ever saw you touch Elizabeth…you know, like…in an inappropriate way.”

  “That’s a disgusting question. How dare he even think that?”

  “Calm down,” she said. “I told him that even though we squabble at times and didn’t see much of each other, you aren’t that way.”

  Chills ran up his spine at the thought of anyone touching Elizabeth.

  “The police have to ask these things,” Connie said, interrupting the gruesome image he painted in his mind. “Especially when a young child is missing. That’s what Kevin said when I told him all about it.”

  His wife’s brother? That’s all he needed. “You called him?”

  “No. He called me. He saw it on the news and he said he’s flying in to help us.”

  Michael balled up a dish cloth lying on the counter and threw it against the wall. “He doesn’t want to help me! He hates me.”

  “No, he cares about you and Elizabeth and wants to help find her.” She put her cup in the kitchen sink and turned the tap on. “Even if he can’t do anything himself, maybe someone at the FBI can help.” She finished rinsing the cup and opened the cupboard door to get a mop.

  Michael took it from her. “I’ll clean up this mess myself.” He meant more than just the spilled hot chocolate and broken cup. As he patted the floor with the mop to soak up the liquid, he said, “Just go. I need to be alone.”

  “Um, another thing. The detective came by about a couple of hours ago. He gave me this piece of paper.” She handed it to him.

  ““What is this search warrant for?”

  “I don’t know. But they took Elizabeth’s computer and your laptop.”

  “Oh, great. Just great.”

  “Anything I can do before I go?”

  “Yeah. Call Kevin and tell him to stay home.” He put his hand up to stop the argument. “Tell him I’ll call if I need him and that you’ll keep him updated.”

  Connie left and he cleaned up the kitchen. He settled down on the couch, mentally preparing for tomorrow.

  I have to bring the baby to the church. I’ll do that first thing in the morning. Talk to Pastor Dennis again about the book. Maybe he’s found out something else. Maybe another pattern? Check the basement.

  He hugged the big, yellow Smile pillow Elizabeth had given him for his birthday. She told him to look at it when he felt sad and to think of her so he would smile.

  He clutched the pillow closely to his heart.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Unable to sleep, Michael sat on Elizabeth’s bed in the dark.

  “What are you doing tonight, Elizabeth?” he whispered. “Are you safe? Is Leah with you? Are you warm and have a bed to sleep in? I’m going to find you. Somehow, I will.”

  Numb from all the emotional distress, Michael fell to the floor on his knees in the midst of the books, papers, clothes and stuffed animals. He let his body lie on the rubble, surrendering to sleep until the phone rang.

  “Hello?” he said half asleep.

  “This is Detective Brady.”

  “Yes, what can I do for you?”

  “We spoke to Matt Jennison.”

  “Who?”

  “Matt. Matt Jennison.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth’s friend. Yes, what did he say?”

  “Matt told us Elizabeth appeared to be fine, happy when she went into the church. He waited several minutes before going into the church and then coming back outside. He left to take his mom...”

  Before the detective could finish, Michael interjected. “Yes, for an appointment. I know. I thought I told you this.”


  “He also said you put your hands on him. You’ve got quite a temper there, Mr. Stewart.”

  Michael didn’t take the bait. “Is there anything else, Detective?”

  “No. We’ll be in touch soon.” He hung up. Michael let the dial tone buzz the remainder of the night. He knew it would be impossible to sleep and he was in no mood to field any more phone calls.

  The next morning, Michael shunned a quick shower and dressed in his worn gray sweats, a torn T-shirt and a sweatshirt. He put on his favorite black coat, picked the baby Jesus off the couch and wrapped it in a blanket given to him years ago by a young boy named Parker after Vicki died.

  “Wrap your daughter in it,” Parker had told him. “You’ll feel better. I know I do when I put my blanket over me.”

  He and Parker became friends, sometimes meeting for an ice cream sundae on Saturday afternoons.

  As Michael walked to the church, several cop cars zoomed past him, lights flashing but no sirens blaring. Wonder what happened?

  He took a seat at the back of the church as Pastor Dennis began the morning service. The pastor spoke about how the community was planning to aid the hungry and homeless.

  When the service ended, Michael met him in his office. “I have something for you.” He handed the baby Jesus to him.

  “Thanks for bringing this,” said Dennis. “Cecilia and George have donated the baby for our manger since I’ve been here. How is she doing?”

  “Fine. What’s in the book that we didn’t know before?”

  “I do know this. I believe we’re all here at this time for something to happen. I don’t know when it will be though.”

  “Did you get the parts that needed to be translated taken care of?”

  “Most of them.”

  “Why is it happening in this church?”

  Before Dennis could answer, his phone rang. “Hello? Yes, hello Detective. He’s here but I’ve been appointed his spiritual advisor.”

  What? My spiritual advisor? Michael tamped down the urge to tell the pastor their friendship had not been renewed. The only reason he was managing to be civil to the man was to have access to the book.

  “Are you sure the test is accurate?” asked the pastor. “Could it be a mistake?”